


Adventures in Babysitting

by voyagersix



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M, Gen, i dont know what this is and i dont know how it happened, not a lot of talking tbh, strange combination of fluff and angst maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voyagersix/pseuds/voyagersix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara accepted the fact that she had to have mom days. Days she wasn't at the hospital, days she had to get the groceries, days she just had to get out of the house and run her own goddamn errands and do her own goddamn duties instead of having the club or Gemma dote on her. Call them little personal victories, but she needed mom days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Babysitting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timeforsomethrillingheroics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeforsomethrillingheroics/gifts).



Tara accepted the fact that she had to have mom days. Days she wasn't at the hospital, days she had to get the groceries, days she just had to get out of the house and run her own goddamn errands and do her own goddamn duties instead of having the club or Gemma dote on her. Call them little personal victories, but she needed mom days. 

But it was these days she would call Gemma anyway, because not being at the hospital meant no daycare, and Gemma'd come by to watch the boys, sometimes with Happy, sometimes not.

That was okay, Tara would tell herself. Or try to.

But today -- today's mom day was different. Gemma won't pick up her phone and if she did Tara would bet her voice would be thick with a hangover and she'd almost be able to smell the weed and the alcohol on her breath from over the phone line. No, today was different. Jax is out and about doing God knows what, and Tara had no babysitter.

 _Okay_ , she thinks. Okay.

Maybe Wayne.

 _But no_ , she thinks,  _Wayne_ _is a good man, but he's a good man parked outside the clubhouse, of all places._

So not Wayne. She calls the clubhouse. She trusts Happy, she trusts Chibs.  _Maybe one of them could come by, and I can save my schedule._

Juice picks up the phone. _"Hello? Hey, Doc."_  She smiles tightly to herself, and it doesn't reach her eyes. She can even hear his smile over the line and she knows it doesn't reach his either.

"Hey, Juice. Are Chibs or Happy at the clubhouse?"

 _"Nah, him and Jax are out, and Hap I think is at his mom's. Something about problems with his neighbor; I didn't ask,"_ he said humorously.

She found herself huffing into the phone line, and then very suddenly, mentally scolded herself. Duh.  _Duh_. Right?

"...Hey, Juice, sorry for asking, I know this is sort of out of the blue, but--" she hesitates, "do you think you'd mind coming by and watching the boys for a bit?" She bites her lip.

 _"Oh! Uh, yeah, yeah! Of course,"_  he jumbles out.  _"I can come by now if you want,"_

"That would be great, thank you," she speaks into the phone, sounding more sure than she felt. She thinks she hears him mumble a goodbye so she hangs up with a click.

Tara hears his Harley not ten minutes later, followed by a tentative knock at the door.

She unlocks the three locks on the door; the deadbolt, the chain, the knob. What she sees is a Juice that she's almost caught by surprise, eyes darting to her once the door swings open. He's finicky and wobbling on the balls of his feet, what's left of what was an ugly bruise healing under his left eye, and a dejected -- yet still very  _Juice_  -- look on his face. No, not his face. His being. His stance.

There's something about this Juice she doesn't quite recognize; but at the same time she does, because  _this is Juice_ , this is the trustworthy, loyal man she still remembers helping her save a life six years ago.

She lets out an even breath, because she suddenly feels a whole lot better, bruises be damned.

That's something she realizes she hasn't felt in a while. Not around Jax.

Safety.

And Tara smiles and she lets Juice bound in the door, still tentative, like a deer,

 _a deer?_  She blinks,

And sees him take in the sight of Thomas in his high chair at the kitchen table, fingers deep in a bowl of Cheerios, and Abel in a chair next to him with his crayons and his paper and his big, goofy concentrated face.

Something in Juice's expression lifts like a veil and she sees him smile that Juice Ortiz smile that isn't as big but it's certainly as bright, reaching his eyes even if it's just a quirk of his mouth. "Hey, buddy! Watcha drawin'?" he asks in a light, childish tone, wobbly form all gone and striding over to kneel next to her son.

She smiles too, and she whispers a 'thank you' as she slips quietly out the door.

\--

It's nearly 7:30 pm when she gets back home. The SUV is full of groceries and her head is full of numbers, mind still buzzing from the errands, both thrilled at being active and able to do things for itself again after fuck knows how long, and also completely exhausted because, holy shit, that was a long day. A long ‘mom day’. Because that's what moms do, she assures herself.

The door swings open slowly and with a quiet little creak, and she's surprised to find the kitchen empty and the house dark.

Her stomach drops out of instinct.

Before she realizes, of course, the time, and that it's Thomas' bedtime. The house is in a state of calm she barely recognizes, like it’s not even her house; like somebody’s chucked her into the Twilight Zone and she’s in a black and white, extraordinary version of it. So she sets her keys down quietly and her stomach down roughly, because  _good God calm yourself_ , and tiptoes into Thomas' room as if she’s trying not to stomp out those idyllic sparks she hasn’t seen or felt since what feels like a lifetime. As if her mind is decades older than her body, already wise in its old age. The threshold of Thomas’ room sets her teeth on edge and she couldn’t figure out why if she actively tried.

But what she sees when the door opens with a gentle _swish_ makes Tara's stomach flutter for an entirely different reason, and she's smiling a big grin (that almost hurts from disuse) before she even realizes.

Curled up in the rocking chair in the corner of the room is Juice, head nodded off to the side. Asleep, probably. Snoring lightly -- but maybe that was Thomas; who's tucked strongly in Juice's arms and resting, asleep, head in the crease of his elbow and the rest of his small frame in his lap. The bottle sits on the table next to them. And Abel -- Abel is curled into Juice's side, tucked next to his little brother and absolutely out cold. And he's probably the snoring one, one arm snuggled close to him and the other around Juice, whose own other arm is acting as some kind of blanket for Abel as if her little boy got jealous and tried to pry himself into his grip. Typical.

What makes her nearly stop breathing is the fact that Juice isn't wearing his kutte. It's not even in the nursery.

They wear those leather vests like armor, she used to think, until the hardening years passed and she realized that they’re really just bandages, patching up wounds old and new, keeping their hearts from falling out of their chests. But here this man was, bearing his heart. Shedding his armor.

Tara knows she should wake them up. She knows she should place Thomas in his crib and Abel in his bed. She knows she should go get Juice's kutte and thank him and send him out the door. 

But she has groceries waiting in the car, and it's only 7:30, and if she stays and watches them sleep for another ten minutes before cooking up dinner and waking Juice and her boys with the smell of fresh spaghetti, then she doesn't see a problem with that.

She sees that Juice Ortiz smile bright and wide again as he's slurping up noodles and Abel laughs and she laughs and they’re, maybe, a family almost, and—

Maybe,

This is a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> for cassie's tumblr prompt and her unfortunate need for this ship to sail like mast on the open sea
> 
> i hate you and it worked


End file.
